


The Hottest Snowman in the World

by Wyrdmazer



Series: Translated Works [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bath Sex, Boys in Make-up, Dirty-Minded Boys, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fireworks, First Time Letting Off Fireworks, Fluff, Funny, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Humor, Kissing, Light Angst, Light Submission, M/M, Muggle Fireworks, New Year, New Year's Eve, Parties, Post-Hogwarts, Scorbus, Silly Boys, Smut, Wine Bath, Winter, this is silly af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyrdmazer/pseuds/Wyrdmazer
Summary: New beginnings can be stressful, no less than endings. Fortunately for Albus, Scorpius is the sun of the universe, and will always find a way to distract his boyfriend from dark thoughts (or at least, will try his best).





	The Hottest Snowman in the World

**Author's Note:**

> **NARRATOR: Scorpius Malfoy**
> 
>  
> 
> ~ PS: Polish word for "snowman" (which is "bałwan") can also mean "dolt". So, basically, the title means two things: "the hottest/fittest snowman in the world", and "the hottest/fittest dolt in the world".  
> It refers to – SPOILER ALERT – Al's words towards the ending, where he calls Scorpius that, in an affectionate way, after Scorpius asked him if they can build a snowman. Al said that Scorpius is the hottest snowman in the world, meaning – considering that it's been originally written in Polish, with Polish double-meaning of the word "bałwan" – that he's the hottest dolt in the world.  
> I hope it's clear. ~

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy! Salazar have mercy, put these fireworks down!"

"You know, Salazar Slytherin wasn't known for his mercifulness–"

"Unlike me. Be grateful."

My face falls when your hands grab mine, already closing around a bunch of long sticks wrapped in paper with colours and stars. You pull me away from the set that has been standing in our yard for a few days, tempting my inner child, but you are so familiarly gentle that I can't find it in me to be indignant at your protectiveness as much as I wanted to mere moment ago.

"Al, I've long ago passed childhood; and these fireworks will not explode by themselves. I don't even have anything to set them off. See?" I raise my hands.

In response, you shoot me with your shadowed stare, and I fall on my knees, holding my heart.

"Why?" I gasp, like a young lady in a burning wedding dress. "Ah, why did you kill the child in me? Yet again, Albus... Severus... Potter." I slump down onto the ground. "I died young, and everything my teenage heart wanted was just a little bit of colour and smoke in the troposphere. Oh." I press a hand to my forehead and stick my tongue out.

I probably resemble a cross between a dead guinea pig and a poor human actor right now.

I hear clapping.

I open my eyes.

You're clapping. Your lips hide mockery. Your eyes softened.

"A bit worse than the last time, but you're roughly keeping the level. Now, get up." You jerk your chin at me.

I reach towards you.

You shake your head but help me get on my feet. In fact, you pretty much do all the work for me.

"Geez, Scorp, put a bit of weight on, would you? Or else the wind will steal you away from me."

I muffle the noncommital sound that rises in my throat in response, burying my face in the collar of your coat.

"You promised that this year I'll be able to let off Muggle fireworks. And what? What now, Al, hmm?" I poke you lightly in your side.

You remove me from yourself.

"I just don't want you to go silly about it and give me the worst New Year's present." Your eyes are heavy, belying your voice.

"I've read the precise instructions, love, and the possibility that something bad will happen to me while maintaining appropriate – not _unnecessary_ ," I stress with a meaningful look, "precautions, is no more than about three per cent."

"There is no such thing as unnecessary precautions." You are clearly not comforted by my answer.

"There is. For example, excessive precaution in the educational process may cause the child to develop anxiety tendencies. Even the most beneficial thing carries the possibility of negative consequences if used unreasonably – for example, in unreasonable doses – although ultimately, everything depends on the given–"

"When it comes to _you_ , Scor, there is _no_ such thing as unnecessary precautions."

And how to get you out of your dark thoughts now...

"Well, I have to agree with you." This is, after all, the only way to freedom from the subject, so that it won't follow us around like chewing gum. "All right, fireworks are put off for later. Come on, we'll feed each other gingerbreads and take a bath in champagne. And then, you can paint my face with those edible paints that Teddy gave us for Christmas."

"Where did _that_ come from?"

I grin and give you a kiss on the tip of your nose. "Here." I point at my head.

"Why would I want to paint your face anyway? I like what you look like... just like this."

Eh, Al. "For fun!" I pull you towards our front door. I add, 'yolo', but that would only bring you back onto the pessimistic path. "Besides, you liked it when Louis put make-up on me for last year's party. Remember?"

The question hangs in the air like a mist of the past, and your cheeks respond louder than any of your words could.

"It's just that even wearing a trash bag, you would like the eighth wonder of the world." You cross your arms over your chest, looking unexpectedly grumpy.

But I know you, and I know you just don't feel comfortable in this kind of confessions.

I laugh. "Come ooon, Mr Scrooge, new year's around the corner, and your thoughts are still stuck in the grave."

"Exactly: new year, next step towards death. And you got it wrong; Scrooge was about Christmas."

"Oh, whatever, I made an adaptation. So what?" I pull you in to busy your mouth with something other than mental pitch. What could I busy your mind with, though... "I'll let you watch me redress, if you promise to keep your hands to yourself."

"I never promise anything; you know that, don't you?" you hum, sliding my hat off my head.

I smile at the tingles spreading from your fingers towards every inch of my body.

"Don't you think it's worth it this time?" My breath envelops your lips in a cloud of steam.

"Hmm, it would be more worth it..." you step back and move to stand behind me, "if you included some interesting offer in the program."

Your fingers are working on the bottom buttons of my coat.

"You need to work for your prize," I purr, already losing my grip of reality. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not too easy for you.

Your tongue reaches behind my collar. I shiver, giving you a quiet, delighted grunt.

"Work? Since when do you make trades in sexual services?"

"Since when you started calling them that."

"Do give a little more thought to what you say, would you? This was the first time."

Your hand sneaks beneath my coat and cups me between my legs.

"Shit," falls from my lips.

You suck the cold-covered skin under my ear, on my cheek. Your lips are shockingly gentle and hot against the overwhelming, prickling cold.

"I like it when you do it."

"Do what?" I'm panting slightly.

"Try to distract me from unpleasant things."

Your hand becomes more and more blissfully unbearable when you rub it against my growing arousal in this annoyingly insufficient way.

"But I really want those gingerbreads and champagne bath, you know?" I gasp into the infinite space of the darkness of the night.

Your laughter is quiet puffs against my heated neck. "And edible paints on your face?"

" _Especially_ edible paints on my face."

"I'll paint you into sun, sunshine."

"You'll have yellow lips..."

"Why?"

I turn in your arms and give you a kiss worthy of at least fifteen loud fireworks. "That's why."

"This was obvious," you admit on an exhale.

* * *

"Are you sure it's hygienic?"

"Apart from the exceptional situations that none of us is anyways? You have nothing to fear neither in terms of hygiene nor health in general. Besides, people do stranger things."

"People suffer from stranger health issues," you grumble somewhere in the background.

"Al." I turn towards you with a serious expression, taking my wet hand out of the bathtub full of wine. "Would I ever do something that would pose any threat to your health or your life?"

You raise your eyebrows, looking slightly less discouraged. "Not _consciously_ , I trust, but who knows what you do not know and what negative consequences that you are _un_ aware of can come from this?"

"Hey-hey." I tap you on the nose with my fingertip. "I'm glad that you're careful, but I'd say you exaggerate sometimes. I did everything properly, you saw it yourself, didn't you? I made sure that our bathtub won't get damaged, and that we'll be able to wash ourselves easily afterwards. Come on, try something new."

"I don't see the point in this."

"It's funny! Different. Unusual. Exceptional..." I smile, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

"Mmmmm-no, I still don't see the charm."

I sigh. "I'll gladly show you."

Without further ado, I take off my boxer shorts and pull off my sweater. Having made sure that they lie neatly folded and safe from accidental splashes, I get into the bathtub.

I'm glad I chose white wine instead of red, because that way you can see my _alluring_ body better, when I spread my bent legs, inviting you into the bathtub with everything I can.

"Come on, Al." I grab a gingerbread with a hole in the middle, and slip it on my successively hardening erection, then rub my hands over my torso and thighs, slowly, gently, involuntarily remembering your touch. "Don't you want me? Even a little bit?" I ask mildly, giving you that innocent look I know you like.

You press your lips together. You look as though a few different facial expressions are a fighting battle in you. "You're–"

"Impossible. Incorrigible. Ridiculous. Fucked up. Weird. Everything bad, et cetera. I know. And right now, I'm also sweet and wet. Be sweet and wet with me." I laugh at my own waggery, flicking wine at you.

You shudder, still looking like you're sitting at a crossroads with a big question mark over your head. "I don't want to be sweet. Nor wet."

"Even for me?"

You roll your eyes. "But _what for_ , Scor? What's the point in sitting in a tub full of wine? Why do you have to have such... ridiculous ideas?"

I feel a bit offended.

"Someone has to." I shrug. "You never have them, so I got this role. You know, each couple – or a relationship between any larger number of people – should consist of mutually propelling opposites that are at the same time – somewhat paradoxically – compatible on certain key fields, so that the relationship can develop in the most optimal way."

"Where do you take this stuff from?" You stroke your finger over my neatly folded sweater.

"From sources of greater credibility than those from which you draw your eternal anti-optimism." I give up, noting that stress has squeezed me. "You really don't want to?"

I skim my eyes across the surface of the wine-filled tub, feeling suddenly like Santa Claus, who met with a blocked chimney.

_Forcing happiness onto others._

I look up at the sound of clothing meeting the tiled floor. My heart jumps to my throat and I have an unexpected urge to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

"But you aren't doing this _only_ so that I wouldn't feel like the last moron, do you?" I move to the side so that you can sit next to me.

"Mostly... but I genuinely feel like being sweet and wet... and sticky," you pull my hand out of the wine and kiss it, "with you. And besides, you only live once, and I would never want to regret that I've said 'no' to you."

I'm quiet for a moment, processing the unexpected heavy weight of your words. "You're like this wine, Al, you know? Bitter-sweet; but even though I'm not the biggest fan of the taste itself, I cannot resist, because in return, I get warmth, feeling of security, and the greatest pleasure I know."

"Finally you decided to pay me back for a comparison to food! Wow. I feel honoured." You reach between my legs and fetch a soggy gingerbread, that has already slipped off my currently floppy erection. "Just, let's not make too much mess, okay? Especially since this is the last portion..."

You grab a new gingerbread from the little plate and consume a half in your standard, huge bite.

"You like them?" I smile like a praised child, because I had a major part in the process of making these gingerbreads.

"No matter how many times you ask the same question, the facts will remain facts." You give me a gingerbread-y kiss on the cheek. "Yes. I like them. Too much. Eventually, these muscles will turn into fat folds, if your confectionary talent continues on such progress."

"Hmm, for me, you'll always be the most handsome male in the entire human population." I straddle your lap and wrap my arms around your neck." But if you're still worried about it, remember that sex can be quite an effective exercise to support body fat burning and muscle growth. The greater the effort, the clearer the effects... generally speaking. So you can..." I leave a trail of kisses along your jawline, smiling as your hands move up my thighs to rest on my buttocks, "take advantage of the fact that you have a willing partner."

I rub my crack against your clearly interested member, sighing at the strong grip of your hands on my buttocks.

"We aren't doing this in _wine_ ," you gasp out without conviction, and I can already see that your stubbornness will lose this time.

"Why not? Nothing bad will happen. We'll use waterproof lube," I close my eyes, whispering the spell, "and it'll be brilliant. Like always."

You're watching me as though from behind the clouds, giving me this special smile that is somewhere between sleep and consciousness, when I lift my body slightly and guide your erection inside me.

"This is not very exertional." Your remark drowns in your breathless, strained voice.

"Doesn't have to be. Can be that later." I moan quietly, lifting myself up and dropping down alternately, small fireworks exploding in me as the head of your penis rubs against my prostate. "Unless you want to change the position."

Your fingers open me up almost painfully, helping my tight channel swallow as much of your pulsing arousal as possible. I arch forwards, backwards, panting endlessly.

I love what you're doing to me.

"Let's do it then."

In a blink, I find myself leaning against the gently sloping part of the tub, and you don't even pull out of me for a moment in this surprisingly smooth rearrangement. Your tongue penetrates my mouth, your hands are spreading hot sparks over my skin, your hips relentlessly impose faster and faster rhythm, and the only thing I have the strength to beg you for is _faster, harder, more_.

I love almost giving myself to you like this. It's extremely exciting to know how much you want me, how strong the reactions I'm able to elicit in you, so easily, so quickly. This fact alone is enough to make me feel like the lord of the universe.

And when you're _in me_ , letting me feel your hunger in such a physical, primitive way, my heart can barely find the rhythm, and my body is doing everything it can to get the most out of you and give you the best in return.

"Scor..." escapes your lips.

I nod, reaching towards your face, guiding you to my thirsty lips; to the edge and further still.

I pant and splash the wine outside the bathtub, and I don't give a fuck, because your hand is too skilled in conjuring paradise for me. You rub the slit of my penis with your thumb and use my precome to rub my foreskin more easily over my shaft.

In a series of broken sounds, I come, shooting my load in a tub full of wine for the first time in my life.

Frankly, it's... even more exciting than I thought it would be.

But does not even come close to the feeling that spreads in me when I feel this satisfying wet heat filling me from the inside, accompanied by your heavy grunts that I know so well and yet, each time they sound like a unique, special gift just for me.

Like a personal miracle you decide to keep sharing with me.

I explore your lips lazily, soothing a sensitive spot that I've bitten a few moments ago.

"Scor?"

"Hm?" I mumble, stroking your back, my mouth busy with taking next steps on its way from your ear to your bicep.

"Your sweater fell on the floor."

* * *

"I shouldn't have agreed to it from the beginning." You tug at your hair as I come out with you on our modest yard in skips, once again this evening.

Somewhere in the neighbourhood, the last firework just exploded from a set launched about a dozen seconds ago.

"Regular fireworks are multiple times better, Scor. They're safe, they always fly wherever they're supposed to, and you don't even have to get close to them to let them off. And you know what else?"

We approach the container with a collection of Muggle fireworks. My hands are shaking, just like on my first day at Hogwarts, when I put the Sorting Hat on my head.

"THEY ARE MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE." You explode.

I almost didn't expect that.

I pick up a fireworks launcher and put it down on the snowy ground.

"Scor... maybe–"

I sigh, turning to meet your tense face. "And what am I supposed to do with you, Al?" I put my hands on your shoulders. You look like you're about to cry. "You've read about tons of fireworks tragedies, and I will not undermine the rightness of your prejudices, but. You will see that in a minute, I'll still be here, safe and sound, and you will try to detach me from yourself because I will get overcome by my typical firework euphoria. Do you trust me?"

You sigh deeply.

"Always, but love is blind, you know?"

"Aw, you have switched on your sweet mode in the face of a potential end again?"

"Dark humour is not in order, Scor. I'm simply worried about your health."

Not having the intention or desire to keep adding fuel to this aimless train, I give you a quick kiss and rush to fulfil my childhood dream.

I almost feel your tension pouring in waves towards me. You're like a sea: dry sand, then a tide will consume everything, dry sand again, and again another flood comes.

At least I know what to expect.

I'm practically vibrating in restless anticipation as I light the fuse, and through the icy silence of the night reaches me that hissing sound that promises...

"WOOOHOOO! YASSS!" I yell at the top of my lungs, outshouting the loud colours in the sky, standing, safe and sound, by your side, enjoying my first ever muggle fireworks let off by hand.

Maybe they are not as spectacular as ours, but there's something special about them that I just fell in love with again.

"Nice." You sniffle. Your arm is pressing me against your side as if you were expecting that I will shoot up in the sky after the fireworks.

I cup your face in my hands and let my excitement out in a long, hot kiss.

"See? All is well! I told you!"

"Hmm, I don't know, is it for sure?

I giggle when your hands make a quick exam of my clothed body.

"Happy now?"

"Very." You nuzzle your face against my neck. "You?"

"The happiest ever. It's a whole new level of firework euphoria. I feel like I'm really letting something out into the world, like I'm showing everyone around, 'Hey, look, people! It's me! Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy! I live in this world right next to you!'."

"Incredible."

Gentle laughter escapes my throat.

"Come on, we'll change clothes and you'll paint me yellow."

* * *

Your hands brush over my shoulders.

"You were supposed to be a good boy, Al." I slide my belt into the loops in my trousers.

"You have such an attractive back..."

I take my shirt off the hanger, trying not to succumb to the pleasant shivers.

"Naturally I'm glad you think so, but my _attractive back_ must be covered, so stop touching me like that."

"What about this?" you ask nonchalantly, speeding up your movements.

"No." I put my shirt on, taking a step forward. "Go grab the face paint, we have about forty minutes left."

"Okey-dokey. But you'll do the details yourself, I don't have the talent for that."

"I didn't use to have it either. It's a matter of skill, Al. Which comes from practice. If you practised a little–"

"Fine! My New Year's resolution: learn how to make you even more deadly handsome than you already are. Write down that I want a snakeskin-lined coffin!"

* * *

The Burrow is the most interesting house I have had the pleasure (occasionally, unpleasantness) to see. However, as we approach midnight and the new year is about to replace the current one, I have no space in my head to admire the house: the garden is full of allures that were absorbing the attention of little Scorpius as much as they absorb the attention of the older one.

Heat is surging in me despite the sparkling breaths of the frost. I'm boiling inside, trembling in the inability to find a satisfactory vent for my exhilaration, and I really want to shoot in the sky and explode into hundreds of colourful sparks. Your arm is tight around me, as always in such special moments of life – strength hidden under an unobtrusion, ready to gather me inch by inch whenever I come apart for you.

"Look, look at those fireworks, Al..." I sigh as a gigantic sparkly hare hops into a giant sparkly hole.

"Hmm," you murmur in approval. "But you still look ten times more dazzling than the most spectacular fireworks," you whisper into my ear, following with a kiss.

Fire explodes on my cheeks. I turn my face to you, reciprocating the sweet gesture.

Three handfuls of people complimented my New Year's Eve look this evening. But I think that you didn't get the proper credit: you had applied the paint very evenly and precisely, and even added a few details!

And if you hadn't found glitter in the last moment, the most dazzling part of my look wouldn't have been born at all, in the first place.

_12... 11... 10..._

We're standing aside. We always do. You don't like crowds – which in your book means more than a trio – and I don't like it when you are alone.

_9... 8... 7... 6..._

So you're alone with me.

_5... 4..._

It was like that from the beginning. And probably will continue to the end. Whenever it'll come.

_3..._

My heart is beating a wild rhythm.

_2..._

I snuggle into you.

_1..._

Our glasses click against each other.

"Happy New Year, love," I purr against your lips, watching from the corner of my eye the rain of fireworks that your uncles are spreading on the starry sky.

"Happy new year, sunshine." Your smile is quiet, but in the midst of booms, flashes and yells, this small gesture brings me the loudest joy.

Even a small gnome under a nearby bush looks delighted.

* * *

"But are you sure you've only drunk two?! Scorpius?!"

I nod, pressing my punch-sticky finger to your lips. "Shhh, I hear you well, don't shout... You're not an instrument." I laugh. "Or are you? In my mouth. Do you like it when I play on you, Al? Albus? I play melodies... I like your melodies. Just for me..."

Everything is buzzing so lovely, in me and in the whole rest of the world, and it's loud and crowdy and hot.

And yet, I press my body into yours.

"Oi!" I'm trying to be angry when you pull me off yourself a moment later.

"Stay nicely on your spot, sunshine. We're not alone." You throw a meaningful glance at the room that's almost tearing at the seams from people.

"But who would pay any attention to us anyway? Look." I draw a swift arch with my arm. "Everyone's busy with themselves."

"I may be wrong, but I would assume that somebody would pay attention to a couple of blokes doing," you clear your throat, " _things_ in a public place."

I release a quiet, discouraged sound that probably gets lost among the basses on the way to your ears. I have the impression that the walls are trembling with the music coming from the huge speakers.

Muggles don't cease to fascinate me.

"I'll burst from the inside." I fall back against the soft sofa.

"You're silly." Your tone makes me feel like a naive child.

"Uncle George is badass," I say out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the spectacular Weasley fireworks display from about two hours ago.

"Apart from the fact that Muggles would send him to a psychiatric ward for some of his incidents... yeah, he's quite a badass."

I feel your thumb on the corner of my eyelid.

"This black thingy on your eyes got smudged."

"Hmm," I hum with a smile. "You would look nicer in it. You know? More..." my gaze wanders over your face, enjoying the shapely features, "sexy."

"You know I have an allergy. Maybe it would look 'sexy' for a bit, but then I would walk around for a few days with my eyes puffy from stupid chemicals."

I won't admit it, it flew out of my head.

I stretch with a yawn.

"For me, you'd be sexy anyway. Last dance?" I entwine our hands, resting my head on your chest.

"You're almost falling asleep."

"Nooo, I still have lots of strength. Just... this sitting made my body sleepy. Come on. Liven me up."

"You're impossible." You pluck at the glittered ends of my hair.

"And also yours. Take care of me, Al." I shake my head like a dog, probably spreading the glitter all over your face.

"Nutter." Your marble voice contradicts your body when you get up from the sofa with me. It's hard to tell which one of us leads whom on the dance floor.

"But the night was nice?" My ease hides suddenly.

"Absolutely." You smile casually. (Apparently, it has passed onto you.)

"You have yellow lips," I purr into your ear.

"Don't you say." Your dismissive tone in my consciousness turns into slight dizziness because you turn me around, and when I lose my balance, you grab me on the way to the floor, your lips brushing mine.

I really don't understand why you don't like parties. They're not so bad!

* * *

"Woohoo!" My cheerful shouts flow in the wind along with millions of tiny snowflakes.

"Put your hood on, or your glitter will run down."

Instead of listening to you, I flop down onto the snow like a dolt, my face meeting a shapely snowdrift.

"For god's sake, Scorpius."

I roll onto my back, spitting out the snow and almost choking with laughter.

"I ate a bit of snow. The first snow of the year..." I announce in delight, trying to make a snow angel.

"I'm not going to kiss you until you disinfect your mouth."

"Hmm... Rightly so, perhaps." I'm trying to look at the sky, but the snow keeps falling and gets in my eyes. "Gimme your hand."

"Wonderful," you declare casually when I stand on my feet next to you, and we both admire my work.

I close my eyes, letting you carefully brush the snow off me. "Night is charming. So cold and dark... Snow everywhere around... We could get lost and build an igloo."

"And then die of hunger or hypothermia. No, thanks." You put the hood over my head.

"It would be romantic..."

" _We would give the last breath of life away to a soulless night, wrapped in the warmth of our infinite love disappearing into the omnipresent iciness_. Mhm, undeniably romantic."

"Wanna build a snowman?"

You raise your head heavenward. "Scooorpiuuus."

"First one in the new year, Al!" I press in child-like excitement that is not peculiar to me at all. "How many new snowmen do you think have been built since the beginning of this year? Maybe we would be the first snowman creators of this year on Earth! We would build the first snowman of 2025!"

"No need. It has already been built."

"Has it?" I prick my ears up, like a snow hare. "Where?"

You turn towards the direction we came from. "Over there."

When I turn around, expecting to see something worthy of attention, you clarify, "When you were all covered with snow moments before. The hottest snowman in the world."

I have a dilemma whether to feel disappointed, ridiculed, offended or touched.

"You've just earned yourself a prize." I skip as I walk, ultimately choosing the fourth option.

"What reward?"

"Remember when we talked about..." I search for the necessary data in my memory, "about including some interesting offers in the program?"

A moment passes before it reaches you. "I do." A smile is not hiding this time. "Any details...?"

"I'll leave that to you. You can write your order on a piece of paper, and I will surprise you at some point."

"You know what?" Sun came out in your voice. That's a good sign.

"Hmm?"

You pull me in, putting a pause on our way home. "I have an impression that this year will be much more interesting than the previous ones."

I grin, letting winter onto my teeth, and brush the snow off your hair.

"But I still won't kiss you until you disinfect your mouth."

**Author's Note:**

> This was a translation of my "Najgorętszy bałwan świata". It's a bit silly, quite different to my other works, but I was aiming for a more canon characterisation of the boys ("canon" meaning The Cursed Child). I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts in the comments!  
> Happy New Year!


End file.
